Just keep on trying till you run out of cake

I wasn't intending to make any new year's resolutions this year, but then I went and thought of something appropriate. As it happens, though, I'm still not going to be making a resolution, per se. I don't feel comfortable making a resolution; it carries too much of a connotation of "I will do this" for my liking. I don't like committing to things absolutely if I can help it, even if only to myself. So instead, I'm specifying a new year's intention. I intend to do this, but if I don't, then such is life.

My intent is that in 12 months time, when I come to write a review of 2007, it will be much more interesting than my review of 2006. There are a whole lot of more specific things that I could cite as goals. Health stuff, education stuff, travel, interpersonal relationships, and so on and so forth. But at the end of the day, I don't particularly care which of these I manage this year, or whether I get nowhere with any of them but manage something completely different that I hadn't thought of. All I want is to be able to look back and say something other than "I spent the last 12 months sitting on my backside being a drain on society".

It's odd, really. People often comment on how little I tend to update my LJ, but a lot of that is because I have nothing to write about (unless people find countless repetition of "I went to the supermarket" or "I lounged about on the 'net" interesting). When I actually do have things to write about, though, I find it awkward and never really know where to start.

The past couple of days, for instance. I'd already mentioned Tuesday's trip to see my GP. Yesterday, then was the blood test. I did manage to get through the (what turned out to be) 19 hours without eating, though not without difficulty. It's most annoying, really; I'm perfectly capable of going that length of time without eating purely by virtue of forgetting I need to eat (though that doesn't happen often these days), but when I know that I can't eat, it's constantly on my mind. Grumble. The blood test itself was entirely unremarkable, though it has left me with an entirely fantastic bruise

For scale, that's about 2.5cm (1 inch) by about 4.5cm (a bit under 2 inches).

After that there was time for me to rush home, get as much food as possible down my throat, sit down for a bit, and then head off to see Yet Another doctor. This time, the local non-specialist NHS psychiatrist. This went about as well as could be expected, by the end of the session, she had promised to give me:

That latter, at least, warrants some explanation. The British NHS is a wonderful institution that I wouldn't want to be without, but it can be quite impressively byzantine at times. For anything at all out of the ordinary, the system (as I understand it) works something like this:

You go to see your GP.They nod and smile politely, admit they haven't a clue, and refer you one step up the ladder to someone slightly more specialised local (in my case, a psychiatrist).You wait around for days/weeks/months to be given an appointment to see them.You go and see them, and tell them exactly the same things you told your GP.They nod and smile politely and admit that they don't have a clue.At this point, they would then refer you on to someone who actually does have a clue, except that in order to refer you to someone geographically outside of your PCT, they have to submit a funding request to some random bureaucrat who will give it either a "yay" or a "nay" based on some arcane rules that mortal man was never meant to know.You therefore sit and wait days/weeks/months to see the result of the funding application.Provided it comes back in the affirmative, you then wait days/weeks/months to get an appointment with the fabled person who might actually know something about your problem.

This, in and of itself, is somewhat below optimal. In my case, there are the additional concerns, such as:

The wonderful postcode lottery of trying to fund treatment of GID through the NHS, with some PCTs saying "sure! we'll help in any way we can!" and some saying "hahaha no", through most points in between.That even if I do get to see an alleged specialist... well let's just say that quality of care can vary somewhat. Which is to say, if the stories I've heard, some of the people practising in the field are both criminally incompetent and grossly sexist.

But yes. Anyway. Getting the promise of a request for funding was about the best I could have hoped for on that front. It's made even more fun, naturally, by the fact that the PCT which was in operation here a few months ago has disbanded, so now everything is operating under a new PCT, so nobody has much of a clue what's going on. She actually said that I would be the first person she'd had to do a funding request for under the new PCT, so everything is even more up in the air than it would otherwise be. Though given that she used words like "useless" and "discriminatory" in describing the old ones, I suspect that this can only be a good thing.

She also said that, in the past, she'd always referred transgender patients down to the clinic at Charring Cross (in London), but that she'd be willing to refer me elsewhere, if the PCT were amenable, if I had any particular preference. So I need to look into different options there, at some point.

I'm feeling a bit doctored out at the moment. Three different medical professionals in two days. An appointment to see another one in a bit under a fortnight – the one I'm seeing privately about the gender crap, since I can guarantee seeing someone competent quickly that way (though continuing going through the NHS simultaneously, since that's a lot cheaper, if things work out). And the in addition to that, things are now also set in motion to see two more, at some indeterminate point in the future. 'Tis all for the best though, undoubtedly.

The when I got home from that appointment, I found a "we tried to deliver a parcel but you were out" card in my mailbox. Obviously, these things only ever come when I'm either out or asleep. It was most vexatious, though, since I wasn't expecting anything. Fortunately, though, the card had a web address I could go to to arrange redelivery, saving me the bother of procrastinating phoning up for it. I would also note, at this point, that even if your company is called Secure Mail Services, saying things like "contact SMS via our website" is always going to be confusing.

The redilevered parcel came today, when I was actually both in and awake, and it turned out to be course materials for my OU course. I've not looked at it in much detail yet; just enough to check that all the stuff that was meant to be in the box was. I did notice, though, that it has cute little cut-out-and-keep make-your-own platonic solids. Awww, my very own icosahedron. Just what I've always wanted.

The course is officially due to start on the 27th, though I suspect I'll at least have a look through some of it before then. Not sure how much of a look, though. It will probably depend on how bored I am in the meantime. I'm a little bit wary of getting too much done in advance, since then I'd end up doing chunks at irregular intervals, rather than the steady stream of routine which I'm aiming for.

Whilst I have no personal experience I have heard that Charing Cross are, well, not the most helpfull of clinics but I guess ymmv. I have heard (from an aquaintance) that one Dr Demsky in London is very good allthough also presumably expensive as he is private.

Yes. I think it's fair to say that Charring Cross have something of a Reputation. The sad thing is, that they aren't the worst; their reputation is as it is (in part) because they take the most patients. How much of their reputation is justified and how much has grown in the retelling I'm not sure. My general thought is to pursue things through the NHS as far as possible, but if I ever do come up against anything horrendous, then I always have the private option available too.

And yes, I've heard good things about Dr Demsky as well. the problem there would be that he is (I believe) a clinical psychologist, rather than a psychiatrist, and so not able to give prescriptions himself, which would just ramp up the cost still further. If it means anything to you, the doctor I'm actually going to see is Dr. Curtis, also in London, on the 16th.

I made you an icon but I eated it. Well, I actually made two. They're not logarithmic spirals, unfortunately, because I couldn't find a zooming animation, but you might like them anyway. I didn't go to too much trouble, just resizing and changing the optmisation for LJ, so if you don't want to use them, that's fine. But if you do:

I was going to say something about the actual entry, in a separate comment. And then I didn't. I agree with your resolution vs intention thing. I have two big things I intend to do, and I'll be very disappointed if I don't manage to do either of them. They have to be big things, which is unfortunate, because little steps would be better.

For someone who really doesn't do very much, I sure manage to spam my LJ with many words. It's a gift, and a curse. Some people still seem to read my monolithic entries anyway, so as long as I'm not boring 100% of my journal's watchers, gg.

I admire all your productivity and action-taking lately. And I'm hoping all the doctoring goes well.

That icon of yours is very mesmering. Mmmm, sine waves. The platonic solids and cut out and keep thing reminds me of Clixi. The domain seems to have expired though, and the only information I can find seems to be in German, which you can probably make some sense of:

On the subject of "we tried to deliver a parcel but you were out" cards, you'll be delighted to know that the Royal Snail version (coming soon by ninja postman to a letterbox near you) has www.royalmail.com/redelivery written on it in large friendly letters.

The site is currently displaying a holding page:

"We're not yet able to provide you with an online redelivery service, but we are working on it. By early next year, arranging your redelivery will be easier and more convenient for you than ever."

...and has been for a while.

Some kind of sweepstake may be in order. Especially since the postal service is pretty much a lottery at the best of times.

I find your countless repetition interesting. Feel free to IM me about it instead. I like consistency, in lives and in pudding. Speaking of which, I've still got a ramekin of chocolate pudding in the fridge...

Also, your bruise looks like a hand, at least in this picture. Very cool. :)